


Vacuum 'Verse

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly), RainofLittleFishes



Series: Marginalia [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, M/M, Multi, Sexual Roleplay, Sibling Bonding, Strilondes, Trolls on Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainofLittleFishes/pseuds/RainofLittleFishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m just here to sex up your lusus-figure. Don’t expect bed-time stories. Or cooking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. enter the vacuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day, y'all.

**Rose: get a new daddy**

“Guess what Rosie-Posie, you’re getting a _Daddy_!”

Yes. Great. You never wanted a "daddy" in the first place, aside from the wishes of your adolescent self for your biological father to be responsible enough to rescue you from your mother. That was not to be, since "Bro" Strider is perhaps the least responsible person you have ever had the misfortune to meet, much less be related to. Alas. 

It seems that, since you have now (almost) reached adulthood, your mother has decided to celebrate by Getting Herself a Man. _Congratulations_ , you mentally snark. _Thanks for waiting until I'm (almost) free of your clutches to shove this in my face._ Her smarmy grin says it all: she's been waiting a suitable amount of time for this, just so it wouldn't seem like she was an irresponsible mother. Her relationship will no doubt be scandalous, but the neighbors will have no choice but to say, "Oh, but at least she waited until Rose was all grown up. At least she's a good mother."

Hmph. You've no doubt it's a ploy to rile you up. You won't let it. No matter who she ushers in through that door, you won't react in anything other than a controlled and gracious manner-- 

No.

NO.

"Hey," Sollux says, offering a weak wave. “I’m just here to sex up your lusus-figure. Don’t expect bed-time stories. Or cooking.”

You are not reacting in a controlled and gracious manner. Your eyes are wide with fear. You can't seem to close your mouth. How are you supposed to counter this strong of an attack?! Clearly you have underestimated your mother once again. She is many, many levels and power-ups ahead of you in this game.

“This is all a dream, I’m going to wake up any second now," you say. You pinch yourself. “Well, that didn’t work. It appears that she has outdone herself this time in our passive-aggressive one-upmanship...”

“Jeez, don’t flatter yourself, not everything is about you. I’m here because your mom is super-hot and I’m all for being a kept troll if it means I can code all day without having to look over my shoulder for drones.”

Mom beams at him, and at you. “Isn’t he darling, Darling? And he fits Momma just perfectly!” She tweaks a horn and snuggles Sollux’s face into her boobs. He doesn’t resist. In fact he seems perfectly happy to be there. 

"Twin mounds, wins all around," he says. He moves both hands up to occupy them.

You are horrified by your mother’s boobs. And their tenant. You are horrified that they are doing this in front of you. “I don’t want to know what you get up to. Either of you. Goodbye. I’m running away to join the circus.”

“But Darling, you despise clowns. Why don’t you take Mama’s second best car on a road trip instead? The keys are by the door and there’s a credit card in Mama’s gin cabinet. Be sure to call home at least once a day, or Mama will worry~ Oh, and when you get home, be sure to knock first.” Wink wink.

One of those winks was perhaps a wonk, you're not sure.

“I’m pretty sure I could sic CPS on you for this, kicking a minor out of the house so you can have sexytimes with your new catamite. Also, is he even of age? Because I don’t actually want to go through the embarrassment of your highly sensationalized and very public trial.”

“Weh weh. The wiggler doesn’t like the color of the paint job on the free vehicle? Maybe the wiggler needs someone to regurgitate pre-chewed food for her?” It is possible that that’s not what he said, as he is still smushed into Mom's boobs and it’s rather muffled, and he lisps rather a lot, too.

“Oh Darling, you don’t have to go!" Mom is still smiling ever-so-sweetly. "We’ll be in Mama’s room most of the time. And you can always move to the gardener’s cottage if you need a bit of space. I know that teenagers need their space.”

God, that woman.

You attempt to passive-aggressively stomp off, making sure to passive-aggressively close the front door with a gentle click instead of slamming it like you want to. Halfway down the wooded driveway you realize you've forgotten something. Namely, everything. You have no possessions on your person, not even the house keys. 

You come slinking back, glad you'd left the door unlocked. What you witness in the living room is terrifying on a level even Eldritch abominations would aspire to: twin French maid role-play. 

You mentally scream in anger and also critique “Dad” for having no butt. Then you passive-aggressively hide the gin cabinet key, two ostrich feather dusters, and your mother’s favorite wizard statuette on your way out. You take the credit card and car key just in case. “And what the hell do they intend to do with the vacuum?!” You try not to think of it, but in your sleep, the vacuum haunts you.


	2. no escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nature abhors a vacuum.  
> \- Walter Cronkite

**Rose: fail to cope with new living situation**

After one night camped out in the parking lot of the nearest gas station, you drive your mother’s second best car back home. You manage to convince yourself that it won’t be so bad. Obviously it’s still going to be hell, but you’re at school on weekdays and are clinging to the tiniest bit of hope that your mother and her sugar baby will be in her bedroom most of the time.

Days pass. You come to realize, with a healthy amount of horror, that the other inhabitants of the house never use each other’s names any more. Now it’s all “Honey Mama” and “Honeybee” and “My Queen Bee”.

The bee theme escalates.

Early one Saturday morning, you come back to the main house after feeding Maplehoof. You knock on the door, but there’s no response. You take this to mean they’re not up yet, and you are wrong.

You have walked in on Alternian beehive roleplay with Mom as Queen and Sollux as a drone chasing her on her mating flight. They’re even wearing little strap-on wings and stingers as they continue to coo their nonsensical nicknames.

**STRIFE!**

**> Allege**

“Please, cease and desist with the nicknames. This behavior is, dare I say it, problematic in a multitude of ways.”

“But, Darling, it’s our _HoneyMoon_.” 

“I still don’t want to hear you calling each other PopRockSugar and HoneyPlayBoyBunny.” 

**Guardian Rubric: Ironic Indulgence**

“Do the gendered assumptions bother you BabyBee? We can always switch them. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt so strongly about social justice… Oh, I know a blog you simply _must_ follow! Let me send you Kankri’s contact info.”

**> Abjure**

“That is absolutely unnecessary.”

Mom pretends to think for a while, exaggeratedly humming while tapping her chin. “Ah ha!”

**Guardian Rubric: Ironic Negligence**

Mom smirks. She offers you her wings. It’s like she’s facetiously offering to share her boyfriend with you.

“Just. No.” 

**> Abscond**

You hoof it. It’s an hour’s drive to the closest sizeable town. You arrive only to find that it’s a Saturday in September and there’s a ginormous Apiary and Harvest Festival. 

There’s a troop of kindergarteners dressed as Our Friends the Honey-Bees. There are free samples of creamed honey, handcreams, fruit honey cookies, and mead. There’s a parade, and, inexplicably, people are waving vacuums and yellow and black feather dusters In Honor of Fall Cleaning. There’s a pumpkin painting contest and the judges are clearly biased toward the twee bee hieroglyphics as completed by some troll third grader. There’s a pet costume contest and a flock of striped, winged, and sometimes sparkly dogs, a grouchy looking Persian cat, a llama, even two miniature horses pulling a cart painted like a hive and carrying The Queen Bee. 

You are aghast. Vacuums and bees, can you really never escape them? Is it really possible that there are this many sick people in the world? Maybe Armageddon would not be entirely unwelcome. Just not two of them.

Just as you have gathered your composure enough to abscond from the Harvest Festival, you are accosted by a familiar and very unwelcome face by the apple cider stand.

"Sup Rose."

"No. I am not dealing with this right now."

"No time for your bro? Harsh. And here I came all this way just to see you, had the perfect little Strilonde family reunion all planned out."

"That's why your first stop was this festival and not, oh, say, my house?"

"Hey, it was fate and stuff. If I'd gone to your house right away - ding dong Rosie you there? - the answer would be a big fucking nope. Bro would make like a goddamn ninja, probs hang out with Maplehoof the whole time. Then it'd just be me and Mom and her troll gigolo, which would be hells of awkward because I know that guy and we'd shoot the shit about Game Bro or whatever while Mom went to get snacks and it would feel all domestic like I'd brought home a friend to do a school project except whoa! Check out this huge fucking catch! That friend is legit banging Mom, she comes back with the snacks, they make out in front of me. I am so glad I was lured by the siren song of apple juice. Apples, man, I'm telling you, they never lead you astray."

"I see. And where is our other genetic donor, if he has not yet abandoned you to be drowned by the fearsome juice sirens?"

"Puppet show." Dave points backwards without sparing a glance in the direction. You scan the area around where Dave had pointed and spot your genetic contributor putting on a bee-puppet show. The bees' stingers jut impudently.


	3. what pumpkin?

**Dave: enjoy your apples with a side of sibling bonding**

The two of you stride off hurriedly. It is definitely only coincidence that you both go the same way. Definitely a coincidence and not, say, you following Rose because you want to hang out with her, while she picks up the pace because she doesn't want to hang out with you. The two of you attempt to cut through the crowd between a row of tables where food is getting laid out when suddenly you are accosted by little old ladies from all sides. Seems like you've stepped into a trap. You end up drafted into judging panels for some of the dessert contests.

“Hey, how bad could it be?” You shrug.

Rose shoots you a look that has "shut up" written all over it.

 

**Rose: passive-aggressively gloat at Dave's suffering**

You are assigned to the Apple table. Dave gets assigned to the Pumpkin table. Oh, poor baby, did he really think he could have all the apples he wanted? He ventures a protest, and is told that the tables are already arranged according to a carefully calculated cross-section of ages, visitors and locals, and some esoteric organization that that he just isn’t allowed to know. You suspect that this is gender and, hmm… hue? Hmm, yes, your twin is looking rather androgynous today in a very sleek ‘come hither’ casual twink manner. Dave clearly has no idea how _pretty_ he is dwelling on the line of fresh-faced boy-next-door and just-exotic-enough-to-titillate-the-locals.

Dave is wearing a shirt labeled “Apples: Pay Homage To Your First Fruit”. There’s a shiny red apple in the Oval Office. It’s holding a red Solo cup, clearly on the way to getting sauced. It does him no good in his attempt to be reassigned. There’s a little old lady hanging off each of his arms campaigning for their desserts. Blue hair on the left is singing an ode to her praline pumpkin cheesecake petit fours. Lavender hair on the left is singing a paean to her fried pumpkin pancakes with cheesecake praline filling. His cheeks have been pinched from both sides and when he finally retreats to the judging table it is with more relief than disappointment. You can almost taste it and it flavors the various apple dishes with a certain je ne sais quoi.

 

* * *

 

Behind the siblings, the bee-puppet show wraps up. Adults clap over the carefully coded risqué jokes, kids over the Punch and Judy antics and funny voices. Bro closes the little curtains and texts Roxy.

Munchkins coopted by small town demo derby dessert politics. Have fun.

Thakns Big D. BigB and R gonga rokc out round 2 now. Make urslf at home.

I'll be in the stable.

We got bdes

*beds

The stable has a long and dignified history of sheltering travelers when the Sandwich Inn is occupied.

Big D, ur family

Didn't know you needed a cheering section to get it on.

Ooh that an offer? Well save u wings an a stigner.

diirk, get your a22 here before we got bored and there2 no nookiie left for you.

Whoa, BabyBeeTwinkie, is nookie now a limited commodity? Alert the media!

fuck you. no nookiie.

Big D, were arguing AI today an keep agreeing!! We need u to argue the other side-s

Devil’s Advocate. That I can do.

Also my antennas r unraveling, bing ur sooing kit.

10-4, pair-amour

 

* * *

 

**Dave: suffer**

The first dessert you sample is a classic pumpkin pie. It's pretty good - nice balance of pumpkin and spice. You still wish it were apple, but at this point you figure it'll be easier to get this over with and _then_ you can quickly score some apple goodness from the other table. You keep this "happy thought" in mind as you plow through desserts two, three, and four, making little run-on comments here and there on the comment cards.

Dessert #5 is "harmonious like a friggin symphony orchestra pumpkin shouldnt go that well with blueberries but somehow it works"

Dessert #9 is "so charred there must have been a massive fire burning down the hizzouse good thing the only casualty was my tongue rip taste buds"

Dessert #14 is "i cant do this anymore seriously they all taste the same now wtf my world is made of pumpkin its pumpkins all the way down please send help"

Somewhere along the line you start thinking of Jade, hallucinating her face superimposed over all the little old ladies who won't stop serving you pumpkins, and you wonder why you didn't just go visit her pumpkin island if you were going to die of pumpkins. At least Jade would be sympathetic. At least Jade would say you were "so cool" for braving through all these goddamn pumpkins. Rose is purposely making love to her apple goods whenever you glance her way, smirking and licking her spoon like it's her girlfriend's nook. She is such a bitch.

If you survive this festival, you're going to instigate a sibling switch. Let Rose stay with Bro for a change - they can be manipulative control freaks together. Mom's sexual tastes might be disturbing, but so are Bro's. You figure you're already experienced in dealing with that kind of awkward. Besides, Mom is an enabler, and she's freakin' rich. She'll buy you all the apple juice you can drink at the cost of only a few more cheek pinches.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Bro attends to a booty call. His first order of business after arriving at the Lalonde estate is to visit Maplehoof. (Don't worry, Maplehoof, Bro knows where his true loyalties lay.) Maplehoof is looking fetching as always, but her pink bow is so two seasons ago. Bro fixes this by giving the trusty steed a new orange bow with a nice fall leaf pattern. He actually brought along a ton of bows and even some pony-skirts and pony-dresses. There is also a pony-tux for when Maplehoof is feeling especially dashing. He hangs these up in the stable and leaves a note for Roxy to please change Maplehoof's outfits according to her (the pony's) mood.

With that very important matter settled, he ninjas his way into the house undetected.


	4. twin switch

**Rose: take the bait, just take it**

Your mother tells you that she’s considered the matter very carefully and has decided that you are mature enough to be trusted on your own. She has rented an apartment for you should you like to move to the city for some alone time with Kanaya. This is an obvious ploy to permanently remove you from the premises.

“It’s time to spread your wings and fly, Rosie.”

“And maybe buzz off with all the judgmental stomping,” inserts Sollux.

“No need to be harsh, honeybuns,” says the cougar queen, first squeezing one of Sollux’s buns, then the other. “Some people just take a little longer to bloom and I’m sure Kanaya can help with that.”

Sollux sighs, leans into her, and shamelessly gropes her back.

You take a moment to check yourself. “Yes,” objective inner-Rose returns, “I’m quite sure that they are deliberately antagonizing us. Carry on.” So you judgmentally stomp upstairs to pack and call Kanaya, who, it seems, has already been informed of the lease.

Years spent waging a war of passive aggression in your daily home life have turned you into an untrusting sort, so you move in with Kanaya with one eye out for the fall of the other shoe. It appears, with little fanfare, next Monday evening with a knock on the door.

“Howdy, neighbor,” says Bro. He is wearing a fetching ruffled peach apron over jeans, a tight sparkly t-shirt, and pearls. He holds up a measuring glass. “Can you spare a cup of sugar?” 

You are pretty sure that this is not actually a euphemism. There’s a smudge of flour on his cheek and a spot on the apron. Surprisingly, the apron is entirely tasteful, with not a schlong or sassy proclamation to be seen. You close the door.

“Kanaya, dearest, were you aware of our neighbors?”

“Of, course, Rose, we sew together on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It’s our turn to host tomorrow.”

You open the door again. The male genetic donor to your lifecodes is still standing in the hallway, hip cocked, measuring glass raised, other hand on his hip. One brow lifts above his glasses, but he doesn’t say a word.

“You might as well come in.”

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back at the estate, Dave decides he can live with the PDA if it means learning to live in the style in which Rose is accustomed. A few weeks in, Mom goes away to a conference and the two young males are left to fend for themselves. Things come to a head on day three, when they run out of frozen pizza and are too lazy to decide on another form of frozen boxed food.

“Dave. Mario Kart marathon?”

“Sure, who needs food? We have AJ. And Cheetos.”

“Loser has to make winner’s choice for dinner.” Snicker, snicker, lisp, snicker.

“Hey, that wasn’t what I said!”

“You afraid?”

“Hells to the no! But you cheat at Mario Kart.”

They end up playing a game of chicken instead, loser being the one who refuses to escalate the groping.

“Yup,” thinks Sollux, sated and snuggling an equally exhausted Dave on a pile of well trampled blankets in the living room, “Starting a collection of Striders and Lalondes was a great idea. Too bad Rose is such a prude and there aren’t any more. Four would be a much better number than three.”


	5. significantly other

As the days and weeks pass in a not entirely objectionable manner, Rose concludes that her new living situation is indeed preferable to living in the boonies. Bro isn't horrible as far as neighbors go. He makes a mean cobbler.

Rose has gained a new daddy - that is, her old one finally stepping up to the plate. She will never admit it, but having Dave close by is nice, too. She knows he was the one most hurt by not having a mother figure around while growing up, so she doesn't begrudge him all the time he spends at the mansion now.

As the months pass further and Bro and Kanaya’s friendship evolves to what clearly becomes pale, then officially a moirallegiance, Rose comes to a new conclusion: her father has no other close friends besides her mother and Kanaya. He’s forty-something and hasn’t been on a date since before she was born. She comes to the only possible following conclusion: if she ever wants to have sex with the absolute certainty that he is not politely waiting for them to finish to come visit, she needs to find him a significant other. Considering what little she knows of his tastes, they’re going to have to be significantly Other.

Rose realizes that she can't do this on her own. She doesn't know much about Bro's tastes in romantic partners for the actual romance part. The little bits she knows of his tastes are really all about his kinks and fetishes, but what about the kind of person that would be most suited for him, personality-wise? So Rose approaches Kanaya with the beginnings of a plan.

"Far be it for me to pressure you into breaking pile confidentiality, but as your moirail's descendent, I also have a vested interest in his emotional well-being. I believe it would be beneficial for all parties if you would divulge some of the information you have gathered in regards to his preferences for, shall we say, flushed partners?"

Kanaya looks up from her advanced floral embroidery book. "Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?"

"If you think I'm suggesting that we join forces to find Bro a matesprit, then yes."

"Oh. Yes indeed. I rather like that plan. Thank you, Rose. I was beginning to despair for Dirk, truly."

"I'm glad we're on the same page. Great minds think alike, isn't that so, Kanaya dearest?"

"Of course. I have always enjoyed being in cahoots with you."

Kanaya doesn't name any names, but she tells Rose about the boyfriends he had pre-Mom. It seems Bro used to have a thing for the cute boy-next-door type, but ended up scaring them all away when they got to know the real him. (No amount of killer biceps were enough to make up for the smuppets and emotional insecurity, apparently.) Or sometimes he would end up putting in extreme amounts of effort into relationships that were doomed from the start because the other person obviously didn't feel that strongly about him... That latter point actually makes Rose feel sorry for the pitiable wreck that is her male genetic contributor.

"He has been hurt before," Kanaya says. "If we are to set him up on a human date, it should be with someone emotionally sensitive."

"But also someone who wouldn't beat around the proverbial bush if there was a problem. Bro is indirect enough already, and that was how his last relationship ended, wasn't it? The boyfriend was obviously unhappy, even resentful, but was too passive to break it off before their entire friendship rotted away."

Their notes go on like so, in neat bulleted points. Sensitive, but direct. Male, they decide, because his attraction to females has been few and far between. Able to push back when Bro gets too controlling. Loyal, above all, and willing to work at a relationship.

"Troll?"

"Troll."

They make a list... They attempt to make a list.

"Do we actually know anyone like this?" Rose asks.

"We... might," Kanaya intones carefully.

"Dude no," says Dave. He was visiting Bro's apartment to pick up some things he left behind when he figured he'd ninja over to say hi to the neighbors and found them deep in cahoots. Naturally, he ninja-d behind them and spied over their shoulders at the Very Neat Bulleted Points.

The girls turn around to regard the intruder, twin unimpressed eyebrow-raises leveled in his direction. 

"No," Dave reiterates. He points to the Clear And Precise Handwriting with an accusatory glare from behind his shades. "You guys are not allowed to hook up my bro and my Bro."

"Your what now? Is this a human thing that I have not been made aware of?"

"It's a Dave thing. Ignore his stupidity, Kanaya."

"My bro and my Bro. Who else do I call my bro?"

"Uh, John?"

"The fuck, Rose?! Why the hell would you even plant that image in my head!" He jabs at the Sixth Bullet Point. "My _troll_ bro. KrabKrab. It's just wrong, man."

"Shut up, Dave. You're sharing a boyfriend with Mom. You've got no room to talk."


	6. The Present: A Gift That Just Keeps On Giving

Karkat and Sollux are having an epic twelve hour videogame slaughterfest. They have soda, chips, and headsets so that they can jeer each other without having to see another living soul. The eleventh hour hits and they’re both a little loopy. Things get perhaps a bit pale. Not intentionally, but Karkat is a mutant and Sollux is a _deviant_ mutant. Their broship has always edged close to one quadrant or another, and also sometimes one just needs to vent.

The following conversation between not-moirails might have been heard had the fourth wall been riddled with holes and their headsets beamed through like cans strung together in a game of telephone that smells like stale Fritos:

Karkat: So I’ve been receiving love notes. Like bonafide messages by mail that say things like “I want to caress your body”, “I’m more shy than I appear, would you consider dinner?” and “I Am Seeking A Long-Term Life-Mate And Wish To Know You Better So That We Might Establish If We Are A Feasible Match”.

Sollux: Clearly an ax-murderer. And did the last one really have Kanaya’s quirk or did I mishear?

Karkat: I was thinking more any-blunt-object, but yes.

Sollux: Creepy. It was okay knowing you. I guess.

Karkat: I’m not dead yet!

Sollux: If it was by computer I could trace it, but there’s nothing I can do about mail. You should check with Kanaya about the last one. Maybe it’s all a joke.

Things that were not stated:

Karkat: I need some advice. Not that I’m gonna take it, but please heckle me until my dander rises and I can shake free of this morass of weird emotions.

Sollux: I got your back. I haven’t “heard” from you so there’s that. Yes, we’re still friends.

We now return to our regularly scheduled (de)programing.

* * *

Meanwhile, Bro is getting his own set of love notes, and Rose and Kanaya are still blissfully unaware that Dave is doing his best to add his own spin to this seduction-par-postale.

Unfortunately for Dave, Bro-Dad _likes_ creepy and quirky, and is swiftly growing _more than a little intrigued_.

(Dave should really determine if he’s trying to sink this ship or just inaugurate it with a glass bottle of cider across the prow. On second thought, he should probably drink the cider and settle in for the entertainment, like the rest of us.)

Bro's love notes, courtesy of Dave, say things like "tsundere crab-princess looking for prince charming" and "i really am as grouchy as i seem but i have a tentadick, heard ur into those". Bro knows right away who they're coming from - it's too obvious - but he's curious about who this troll is that the munchkins think can handle him. Dave hangs out with a bunch of trolls. (Bro didn't raise no racist, hear?) He actually has more troll friends than human, and has absorbed some of their customs and lingo. This is apparent in the note that goes, "hey baby whats your sign?"

That's the note Bro finally replies to. "Sagittarius. A/H/L?"

The 'H' stands for hemocaste. (Trolls don't care much for 'S'. Tentadicks, the lot of them, though Rose primly refers to it as “monoecious” which, to be fair, might actually apply to a girlfriend that photosynthesizes, since Kanaya definitely has a spine. Rosie. Is. Hilarious. Bro is going to buy her the 2010 Britannica, all 32 volumes, and make sure that she has to use them for the crossword. Best job ever. He spends a part of every week trolling the entire roll of New York Times subscribers.)

Dave's response is "9/nonnymoose/come and get some". Attached is a copy of dinner reservations at a fancy place downtown. Well shit, looks like they expect him to conduct this courtship completely in person. Not even a trollhandle in sight to let him get some internet stalking in first.

Karkat, following the next logical step, tries to grill Kanaya about a possible prank. "Oh Would You Look At The Time. Sorry Karkat I Have A Knitting Circle To Host."

Then Dave gets in on the molestation of his mailbox. The note is in red ink, handwritten in Dave's chicken scratch like he's not even going to hide it's him. "big strapping sagittarius looking for love" with dinner reservations attached. At this point, when it’s far past the point where anyone can pretend that they don’t know what’s happening, there’s even a horse dong doodle.

Karkat grits his teeth, pulls out his little black book, and puts one exceedingly precise line on a page full of exceedingly precise lines. The page title is “DAVE MUST DIE”. The precision of these hundreds of carefully drawn lines belies the fact that they were each written in the extremities of pulse-throbbing rage. The practice, started mere months ago, has done little to make Karkat forgive Dave for the thousands of previous and recent offences, but it has made him much, much better at not physically exploding all over unrelated parties. Online advice columns occasionally have good ideas.

Dave snickers and mumbles to himself through the plotting of the whole thing, clearly enjoying himself despite his initial protest. Sollux spies his boyfriend penning the last few notes, figures out what's up, and also figures Karkat can stand to be trolled a bit. Who knows? Big D is killer in bed. Maybe Karkat will loosen up if he gets some. That's what hatefriends do, right? Help their dumbass hatefriends get the D?

It may be noted that Dave does not actually know what Bro does in bed. He certainly knows _whom_. And he knows his brother’s sordid internet history. But there are limits, and Bro is, strangely enough, a man of many boundaries. One could say, a man of unplumbed depths, but _that_ would be a dirty stinking lie.


End file.
